


Come From Heaven, Dreams of Hell

by Magical_Bucket



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 100 year nap, Angst, Armageddon, Canon Compliant, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Flashbacks, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Holy Water, Hurt, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Nightmares, Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), minor flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23644063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Bucket/pseuds/Magical_Bucket
Summary: Aziraphale is the type of angel that would love to indulge in earthly pleasures. It seems like he's done everything but sleep. But why? What If he had a bad experience that put him off sleeping? What If that particular bad experience included one snake demon?The dream Aziraphale had when he ended up trying to sleep.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 40





	Come From Heaven, Dreams of Hell

Aziraphale was different from the other angels. Not to say he was unlike them in every way; he followed the great plan and was undoubtedly good, but he was still different. Aziraphale, unlike the other angels of heaven, liked to occasionally indulge in earthly pleasures. He ate, drank, and was quite the avid book collector for the sake of keeping up appearances. Overall, he loved the earth and the people there.

At least, that’s what Heaven thought of him.

Yes, it was in fact true that Aziraphale partook in all those things, however, he enjoyed them more than he let on. He especially enjoyed indulging with a certain adversary. The same adversary that had asked him for holy water, shortly before dropping from the face of the earth when he rejected the idea. 

It had been a year without hearing from Crowley before Aziraphale began to worry. He started with letters, trying to meet up at one of their usual spots, but every time the demon was a no-show. There were times where they had gone decades without seeing or speaking to each other, but that was before their arrangement. For Crowley to be woefully silent now was just off-putting. Naturally, Aziraphale got tired of waiting for a response and went over to Crowle’s residence to check on him, only to find the demon fast asleep. He had thought about waking the sleeping serpent up but decided against it. Who knew how he would react after their last meeting. Instead, he went back to his bookshop to mourn the end of the arrangement. 

As years passed, Aziraphale felt the continuing lack of company weighing down on his soul. He had long since forgiven Crowley for the ridiculous request, but that didn’t change the fact that Crowley was still asleep. And so, Aziraphale drank alone. He was quick to discover it wasn’t nearly as fun to drink alone. There was no one to debate with. No one to discuss the important and not so important parts of morality with. It just made the weight of loneliness on his soul turn into a dull crushing pain. 

This also turned out to be a bad night to be drinking. Not because of the world's problems, but because of thoughts plaguing his mind. The argument at St.James kept playing in his head, trying to figure out something. What he was trying to figure out, he didn’t exactly know. How to wake up the sleeping demon? If there was something he could have done better? Would Crowley ever forgive him?   
Aziraphale gave up on searching through his memory for answers around the point where the lights didn’t just illuminate the room but also started to become a blurry haze that got mixed with the multiple colors in the room. He had already accepted that Crowley wouldn’t be waking up any time soon and there was no way he could even talk to him. 

Or could he?

Maybe his memory could help him talk to his sleeping serpent. Aziraphale’s face lit up as he went up the stairs to the flat above the shop. He was an angel. Angels were supposedly able to contact people through dreams. Aziraphale didn’t exactly know if Crowley COULD dream, and he hadn’t ever done something like this before, but it was worth a shot. 

The upstairs flat was incredibly different from the flat downstairs. It was hardly used at all, only to store books and other trinkets that Aziraphale had accumulated over the years. The dust that would have been there probably could suffocate a human. Luckily for Aziraphale, all dust had been miracled away before it could form, and he did not need to breathe. The flat itself was a fair size, but it also lacked the furniture one would usually imagine in a comfy home. The only piece of furniture that could currently be found was a bed that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. Aziraphale made his way to the bedroom where the bed had appeared.

Aziraphale had indulged in a lot of human pleasures. He loved to eat and drink and loved to collect books. What the principality never had the chance to do was sleep. He had always preferred to spend his time reading or finding out what the world could offer. The short version of all of this, Aziraphale had no idea what to do. He’d seen people sleep many times, so he figured it couldn’t be that difficult. He just laid down on the bed, and closed his eyes.

When Aziraphale ‘opened’ his eyes, he wasn’t in his flat. He was in the middle of what looked like an ocean of ink sitting on a raft. The world was dark, only enough light to show the vicious waves. There was no land in sight, and the scene was oddly reminiscent of the flood. Somewhere in the distance, thunder could be heard along with a slight smell of holy wrath. It was only then when Aziraphale realized he wasn’t alone on the raft.

“Crowley?” Is what he wanted to say. When he opened his mouth, however, nothing happened. He tried again with no success. He tried to reach out to his friend. He couldn’t. It was like Crowley couldn’t even see him. Had he done it? Was this what Crowley was dreaming about? As bad as it seemed, the crushing feeling had lifted. Even though he couldn’t move or speak, Crowley was there. He was safe. 

He was safe until the water splashed up at them. Aziraphale was only hit by the spray, but Crowley got hit by a good amount. As soon as the water made contact with Crowley's clothing, it started to smote and burn. It was only then Aziraphale figured out why he could sense the divinity from such a far distance away. The ocean had been blessed. A demon had just been splashed by holy water, yet he didn’t move. Aziraphale tried to move to his friend's aid, to ask if he had been ok, but he couldn’t move. The only thing he could do was sit and watch. They got closer and closer to the thunder and lightning, so close that the small raft was struck in the middle, causing the whole thing to fall apart. The raft sank, and Aziraphale could move again. It was hard to move and he was underwater, but it was something. 

Crowley had disappeared. There was nothing in the water around him but darkness. He was alone again. The earth was gone. Crowley was gone, truly and utterly dead. He wasn’t coming back. Aziraphale thought he could feel himself cry, but it was impossible to tell he was submerged in water.

He thought it would be a relief when he got out of the water. Angels may not have needed to breathe, but he still had to catch his breath. When he gained enough composure to look around, he almost wished that he was back in the water. He was back on earth, but all he could see was a war zone. The humans had been at war with one another many times before, but this time was different. These weren’t humans. He had been dressed in heavens armor, armed with his flaming sword. There were other angels around him, but there were also demons as well. It was all a bloody mess. Blood on the ground, wings, weapons. The metallic smell of the air was near impossible to avoid. 

That's when he spotted him again. Crowley's red hair stood out from the dark blood that seemed to cover every surface. The yellow eyes glazed over as he sat on his knees. Aziraphale also recognized Sandolphon standing behind the serpent, sword raised, prepared to strike. Aziraphale was able to move this time. Aziraphale did try, but he was still powerless to do anything as Sandolphon brought his sword down. 

It was dark again. The blood and earth melted away to nothingness, leaving only him and Crowley. Crowley's mouth started to move, but Aziraphale couldn’t hear him.   
“What was that, dear boy?” Aziraphale moved closer to the kneeling snake.  
“I SAID, it’s your fault.” it came a little louder than a whisper. A distant voice that still held enough hatred to break Aziraphale’s heart. “I’m gone. Dead. It’s your fault. I told you that holy water wasn’t for me.” The image of Crowley started to fade. Aziraphale tried to touch him, apologize. He was able to reach him, hold some part of his friend. He didn’t think he could stand it if he lost him. Not again.

Crowley still slipped through his grasp as he was pulled from the void, up into heaven. Aziraphale had already started sobbing, and being in the presence of not only the Archangels, but also the Almighty herself didn’t do well to calm his nerves. All of the Archangels wore frowns. Deep, disappointed frowns. The Almighty didn’t appear as a person but as a ball of light. Her voice was booming. It was so loud, Aziraphale though he could feel his eardrums shatter. He couldn’t understand the words that were being spoken. He was stricken with grief, and the words couldn’t be interpreted as anything more than screams as he fell from heaven.

Aziraphale bolted up and immediately brought out his wings. The wings were still snow white, not a feather out of place. His hands shook as he checked them over carefully. He had to take a few deep breaths before the shaking stopped. He wiped the sweat off of his face as he climbed out of the bed and miracled it away. He tucked his wings back into the ethereal plane as he left the flat and back down to the book shop. He started to put on some tea as he swore to himself that sleeping wouldn’t be on the list of things to do for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I got all the spelling mistakes. I'm extremely tired, so if there is anything, I'll hopefully be able to go over this later with a fine-tooth comb. Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
